Saturday, May 3, 2008


I think I need a warehouse. Over the years, my artwork has multiplied to the point where I don't know what to do with all of it. The compulsion to make more doesn't end, so eventually I expect to be overtaken completely by an assortment of good art, mediocre art, and bad art. I can see myself becoming an eccentric old lady whose collection is so prolific that there is only a narrow path, surrounded by stacks of paintings and drawings, through the house. It really does get to the point where it is overwhelming because as one ages, the desire to free oneself from material objects becomes very attractive. Thus, an interior conflict arises. Throwing out or getting rid of my artwork is something akin to getting rid of my children, and I could never have done that.

I suppose, however, I should sort through it all and make the arbitrary decisions about what is worth keeping and what is not.


The weather here was chilly and wet all week, so I didn't fish until Thursday afternoon. The fish were biting, actually I think I was just feeding them a lot of nightcrawlers! I only caught one small rainbow trout, one small perch, and eight blue gills. All fish were catch and release, so none came home with me. It was a beautiful day. The temperature was in the upper 70's, there was a lot of sunshine and a light wind. Not too many people were fishing, a change from the middle of April when trout season opened. Anglers were almost shoulder-to-shoulder at Northmoreland Park for a couple of weeks.

Fishing is such a peaceful, calming activity. I think I was influenced by my paternal grandfather, a positive male role model in my life, who loved to fish. I vividly recall sitting in a motor boat with him when he took me out on Lake Ontario fishing with him one summer day when I was ten years old. We were staying at my uncle's hunting and fishing camp on Big Island. I know my grandfather was trolling, and trying to catch a big pike or a muskie. He didn't while I was with him, though. That was the same week a big kid who was visiting someone else on the island tried to drown me. Another vivid memory which kept me from becoming a good swimmer all my life. I recall my mother having me look in a mirror to see how blue I was. Scary!

On the positive side of that experience is the knowledge that drowning is a rather peaceful form of dying, once you are past the struggling. I remember just sitting down on the bottom of the lake and gazing at the algae growing from the lake floor as it swayed gracefully with the water movement. What happens, I believe, is that euphoria overcomes you and you no longer fight to get out of the water.

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After attempting to set up a blog on other servers, I find Google is the easiest to use. Although I have been using and learning about computers since the mid-1980's, all the new avenues and opportunities and language used on the Internet have changed rapidly and I have not kept up. I am hoping you, the reader, will bear with my mistakes and changes as I take a leap of faith in this new communication of ideas. Please feel free to comment and add to my blog.

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